


Off the Record

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-10
Updated: 2010-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-13 04:13:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elizabeth leaned forward. "So, tell me everything. Have you ever been to an event at the Tate?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Off the Record

Neal would have sworn he knew every eating establishment inside his radius, but Elizabeth managed to surprise him. He arrived a little early and found the restaurant cozy without being overly romantic, and the menu adventurous and tempting. By rights, the place should have been packed, but there were a couple of tables free, and the wait staff seemed unflustered and easy-going. When Elizabeth appeared, in a stylish business suit with her hair up, Neal half-rose from his chair, to her obvious amusement, and said, "How did you find this place? It's wonderful."

"Word of mouth," she said, sitting across from him. "Sorry I'm late—indecisive client."

Neal waved that away, marveling once again that although he was absolutely attracted to her, there was almost no tension between them. It was as though she deliberately surrounded herself with a flirtation-free zone. Still, he could tease her, and he would.

The waiter came and took their wine orders, and then Elizabeth added, "The chef here used to work for my favorite catering company. So, Neal, are you managing to stay out of trouble while Peter's away?"

"Did he ask you to check up on me?" Neal's good mood wavered. Peter and Diana were in California on a case, and Neal had spent the last three days at the office, working with Jones on the information requests they kept sending through and dutifully leafing through boring cold cases the rest of the time. But if Peter was going to doubt him, no matter how well he behaved, Neal might as well do something to earn that doubt.

But Elizabeth shook her head. "My motives are purely selfish. Wouldn't you know it, that I'd have a relatively quiet patch at work, the one week Peter's out of town? And I thought, well, you've been to a lot of parties and openings and so on, right? Maybe you can give me the benefit of your experience so I can keep ahead of the curve."

Neal's annoyance evaporated immediately. "So this is a working dinner?"

"Yeah, and that means I'm paying. No arguments. It's a legitimate business expense." She eyed him sternly till he held up his hands in surrender.

"Well, in that case—" He picked up the menu and made a show of perusing it.

The waiter brought their wine and took their orders. When he left, Elizabeth leaned forward. "So, tell me everything. Have you ever been to an event at the Tate?"

Neal raised his eyebrows.

She smiled. "All completely off the record, I promise. I won't even tell Peter."

"Hmm. Maybe I should check you're not wearing a wire," said Neal. "Just to be on the safe side."

Elizabeth laughed and shook her head. "I don't think so. You're going to have to take my word for it."

"Well, then," said Neal, "just between you and me—" And he told her about the exhibition opening he'd crashed in 2003, which naturally led on to tales of other occasions and perhaps a little bragging. Neal didn't get much opportunity to brag these days.

Elizabeth was a good audience. She listened, laughed and asked curious questions. Teased him a little, but always kindly. When the waiter took away their plates, she said, "It must be quite a come-down, after all those adventures, to be working for the Bureau."

"It has its moments," said Neal. "But yes, it also has long stretches of tedium."

"Poor baby," she said, as if she were talking to Satchmo.

He grinned. "Whatever baby wants, baby gets?"

"That depends on what it is that baby wants," said Elizabeth, her eyebrows quirked.

Neal looked at her through his lashes. "Tiramisu?"

She burst out laughing. "Baby can definitely have tiramisu—especially if you do me a favor."

"That depends on what it is that baby wants," said Neal.

Elizabeth looked embarrassed. "You're not allowed to tell Peter I said anything, okay? It's just—you know how long he was chasing you."

"Three years," said Neal, reflexively. If it had seemed like less, with its dizzying rush of close calls and triumphant escapes, the next four had more than compensated.

"Exactly," said Elizabeth. "And now you make an arrest every second week, and I know it's partly because of your inside knowledge and big shiny brain, but it's also—" Her mouth turned down.

"You think he takes more risks," said Neal, filling in the blanks.

"I think he has more opportunity to take risks," she said. "He used to be careful, methodical. He used to build up a profile and learn his subjects before he jumped into the fray. These days—" She looked down at her hands. "I'm proud of him—of both of you. Really. You're an amazing team. But I can't lose him."

"Let me get this straight," said Neal, tucking away the _proud of both of you_ to think about later, "you want me to encourage Peter to exercise more caution?" He couldn't help the note of irony in his voice.

But Elizabeth met his gaze without humor. "Yes. Please."

Neal blinked at her, waiting for the punchline, but she was serious. "Peter's still careful," he said. "He takes precautions. You know that."

"He's been in more firefights in the last eight months than in the previous eight years. He's in the White Collar unit, for God's sake. Most of his suspects are accountants! And you, too. How many times have you been hurt?"

"I'm fine," said Neal, automatically.

"I know." Elizabeth's shoulders slumped a little. "I just want everyone to stay that way."

"We don't go looking for trouble." Neal wasn't sure what he could promise her—there was no way Peter would compromise their conviction rate, and neither would Neal, for that matter—but he had to give her something.

"Maybe not," said Elizabeth, "but you have a habit of being there when trouble turns up." She sighed and shrugged. "It's stupid. I should be having this conversation with Peter. Forget I said anything, okay?"

But Neal couldn't just leave it there. "I've got his back," he said. "I won't let anything happen to him." The words rang true as he said them—not so much a resolve forming as the recognition that it had been there all along. Neal hadn't lost a crew member since he left Alex in that hospital in Copenhagen; he wasn't about to start again now. "I promise."

"Thank you. I appreciate it." Elizabeth gave him a crooked smile, and then looked around to catch the waiter's eye. "Now, how about that tiramisu—"


End file.
